Then
That was quite the fall.
He had to give it to the rats, the buggers knew how to set a trap, even if they overdid it. That loader was sure to have been drinking gas like a chronic alcoholic wanting to forget. It spoke of their power, in a way. "The prestige of the tribes is measured in their motor power" Top Dog once told him, "The more and bigger their motor is, the greater the testament of their power. Motor thirsts for oil, it craves it, and the more you have, the bolder you have to be to quell it. Motor is our way of life, but it can also spell our death."
He was right, the lines of cars that he and Rasp'd seen left in the middle of the vast, seemingly endless desert, abandoned by its drivers without a drop of oil or gasoline left were too many to count, and the drivers couldn't have gotten very far on foot. So, the fact that they had a loader aswell as all those bikes spoke a bunch about their stregth. Or perhaps, how desperate they were, given that they started it up just for a single car and two people.
Either way, they were captured now, hands on the back of their heads, guns being pointed at them from every angle. To try and fight would be suicide, though given some tribes he'd seen suicide would have been the best outcome he could wish for. Hopefully they were only dealing with slavers or cannibals that were hungry enough to kill them quickly.
"WHERE ARE THEY!?" yelled one of them, jumping out of a bike, giving them both death glares as he saw them. "Which one of ye killed me brother? Which one of ye fuckin' bodybags fuckin' did it?!" Eyeing Rasp, he made his way towards him with quick steps with a frown filled with disgust, body language showing the bearest of restrains from violence. "Ye the one doin' the shootin', weren't ye? Ye the one that shot me brother's rider, ye? I'll cut yer fuckin' balls off!" he poked the blunt part of his knife on Rasp's thigh, "Eunuchs aare on high demand these days, ye'll fetch a higher price!"
"He shoulda worn a helmet."
The rat turned to face him, one of his eyebrows twitching, staring at him with what seemed like maddened rage. Completely forgetting Rasp even existed, he walked up to Eddie, raising his head to meet his eyes. "The fuck'd you say to me, furball?"
"Safety first, am I right?" Eddie chuckled, grinning, "What, didn't your parents teach you two to wear a helmet? 'Motorcycle accidents are quite common! Wear a helmet, live a long life! Bless me with grandchildren!" he mocked, as though an aged father demanding grandchildren.
The Rat clunched his fist, trembling from rage. "You have a death wish, don't you, old man?"
"Oh no, he he he, not at all! I just find it funny. You know, how your bro died like a *****!"
His cheek exploded as the Rat, evidently having reached his boiling point, hammered him with a haymaker. He could taste blood, and almost returned the favour. Almost ripped the little rat's face off, showed him that dogs can be as deadly as cats if riled up. Instead, he motioned Rasp not to do anything rash. The moment either of them made a move, they were dead.
"You call that a punch?" he grinned as he wiped the blood off his lip, laughing, "No wonder your bro was such a-"
A flurry of punches followed, as Eddie's face was flung left and right; with each punch received, the itch on the back of his head grew, wanting him to give in, but all that Eddie did was keep gesturing Rasp not to do anything. When the onslaught was over, he felt his entire face throb from the pain, and one of his eyes swelling up. The Rat's breath was heavy, and his face sweaty; not a marathon fighter, that one.
"That it?" Eddie mocked, spitting blood on the ground. His knees had grown a bit weaker and his vision was spinning, but he'd be damned if he let the Rat see it. "I've seen 12-year-olds give more of an impression than you. I'm surprised you and your bro survived this lo-"
"SHUDDUP!"
A heavy knee landed on his stomach, and he fell on one knee, coughing, gasping for breath, but grinning all the same. For a brief second, he pictured himself beating ratboy to death with his own leg, but he kept motioning Rasp not to do anything. Catching his breath, he started to laugh once again.
"STOP LAUGHING!"
A stomp, followed, throwing Eddie on the ground, followed by an angry flurry of more foot stomps. Protecting his face with one hand, the itch in the back of his head grew ever more tempting to scratch. But he kept gesturing Rasp not to do anything. Was he motioning for Rasp or for himself at this point? It was all a bit blurry in his head. He was reaching his limits, getting real close to grabbing the little vermin's leg and throwing him on the ground, real close to making his face -if there was any of it left when he was done- unrecognisable.
But then, someone grabbed Mr. Mouse from the shoulder and pushed him back. He was a tall, toned man, less than a head shorter than Eddie, his glare showing a degree of cunning and calculation that set him apart from the rest. Indeed, if ratboy was Pinky, this one was the Brain. "Enough." he said, his voice authoritative.
"Since he killed your brother, I allowed you to rough him up. But roughing up and damaging the merchandise are two different things.
"He he he... 'twas nuthin... Barely even felt it..." Eddie said, grinning weakly, his teeth blood red. With the adrenaline setting down, the pain started kicking in, and his vision grew worse as he struggled to keep from passing out. The Rat King eyed him, reached out, and took his hat. "I know a guy that collects these. Should fetch a high price, given its condition. Thank you for your patronage.
Eddie didn't have the energy to object or fight back. It was difficult enough to keep one eye open (the other had already given up), and he couldn't even raise a hand. As darkness surrounded him. his last thought was that he really wanted that hat back.
Now
The dank air assaulted his nostrils, making him feel rather nauseated. As he opened an eye (the other one was feeling rather uncooperative, blackened as it were), the barely illuminated room spun, his blurry vision turning it into a mish-mash of dark colours whirling around in his head. His arms were chained, hisface felt like it was run over by a truck, and his torso wasn't much better; every breath was painful, as was his attempt to raise it.
Far from the best awakening he'd ever had, all things considered. But also far from the worst.
Lumbering his body upwards, he let his back rest on the metallic wall behind him, and turned to his partner-in-crime, shooting a pained lopsided grin. "Hey there chief, worried ya there for a sec, didn't I?" He rattled the chains holding his hands, "Damn me, must've left quite the impression. eh? At least that rat didn't hold up his promise to castrate me!" He tried to laugh, but all that came out was a mixture of laughter, cough and a pained groan.
He turned to look at the rest of the occupants, most of which were unremarkable, except for a young man, taking care of a girl barely enough to be thought of as a teenager. At the sight of them, he couldn't help but frown and feel a considerable amount of sympathy for the crying girl. Life was cruel, and crueler still for children. If this was what he though it were, the girl didn't look like she'd survive long.
He let his head rest on the wall for a sec and took a -painful- deep breath. "So, Rasp," he said, his voice serious for once, "I seem to have missed a few things. How long was I out, and what happened in the meanwhile?"